


and perhaps this is love

by benitato



Series: killugon? killugon. [6]
Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Basically, Fluff, Lots of it, M/M, established Killugon, killua wonders what love is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-04
Updated: 2018-01-04
Packaged: 2019-02-28 05:51:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13265040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/benitato/pseuds/benitato
Summary: Killua is uncertain, but he supposes he has some ideas about what love is.





	and perhaps this is love

**Author's Note:**

> Cheers, and enjoy the unadulterated fluff.

 

 

 

>  

 

Killua is uncertain, but he supposes he has some ideas about what love is.

  
And what it is not.

 

 

  
Love is not the dark, uninhabitable room in the deepest recesses of the Zoldyck manor Killua is forced to stay in for hours at a time. It is not in the cold seeping through his bared limbs and into his bruised bones.

 

Love is when the cellar doors open, and Gotoh comes to collect Killua's unconscious, battered body, cradling it as gently and carefully as if it possessed the frailty of glass.

 

 

Love is not the gashes Killua acquires merely seconds into relentless sparring with Silva Zoldyck. It is not the painfully delicious electric shocks that once caused his body to convulse.

 

Love is not the blunt blows delivered to every inch of exposed skin, hardening until impervious to almost anything. It is not in the warm blood trickling down the corner of Killua's mouth.

 

Love is in the careful way his father dabs at the red stain — large hands with boulder-like knuckles that have torn open throats are now light on Killua's face.

 

 

  
Love is not Illumi's velvet purr, quiet yet ringing in Killua's mind, urging him to

 

_run, you can't defeat it_

 

and

 

 _kill_.

 

  
No, Killua is sure love is anything but _that_.

 

  
Love.

 

  
Curious, really, how often his family throws in the word in almost all of their sentences.

 

  
_Killua, it's because we love you_

— is the most frequently used.

 

  
It is used when barbed whips draw scarlet lines across his pale skin. It is used when he is electrocuted more times than he can count. It is used when he is forbidden to go outside the estate.

 

It is used as Illumi twists the neck of one of the children playing dodgeball under the sickly yellow of the lamp post.

 

  
_We love you, Kil—_

  
Yet if they were willing to take other people's lives for him, then Killua supposes that in their own twisted way, his family _does_ love him.

  
But Killua has had quite enough of that kind of love.

 

 

  
Love, Killua thinks, is in the absentminded way Kurapika reaches out to ruffle his own unruly, white hair. (Killua dodges it, but he's realized he doesn't mind the affectionate touch. Much.) It is in the mild reprimanding the Kurta gives to his companions, and it is in the rare smiles they draw out of him.

 

  
Love is in the rough wrestling Leorio engages them in, occasionally ending with the elder out of breath and accusing the two adolescents (Killua, mostly) of cheating and resorting to underhanded tricks.

Love is in the mock-angry retorts and insults exchanged between Leorio and Killua, both accepting that profanity to them is the same as endearments.

 

  
Love —Killua smiles at one of the figures beside him— is simply, _obviously_ , in Alluka's eyes.

He wonders when he’d started recognizing Alluka’s blues as a shade associated with her alone, and not when he looks at his reflection.

It is in the frail strength of those fingers wrapped tightly around his wrist. It is in the adoring croak of Nanika's voice as she proclaims her fondness for Killua and Killua alone. Killua thinks there can be no higher privilege than this.

 

  
That is, until, he looks at the other figure sitting beside him.

 

 

  
By all rights, Killua should have had little to no chance to know what love is, given the things he's done and the things done _to_ him. But now, he thinks he's been blessed with one too many chances to figure it out.

  
A hand grasps his, and Killua blinks.

 

  
Gon smiles.

Something in Killua breaks a little.

 

 

  
Leaning back and looking at the other figure beside him, Killua thinks that perhaps he _does_ understand what love is, and that it starts but does not end with the boy within arm's reach.

 

  
Love is in warm, calloused hands. It is rough hugs and messy high-fives. Love is in stares that last a second too long, and it is fluttering pulses that result.

 

  
Killua, in turn, grabs Alluka’s hand and squeezes it softly, earning him a quiet sigh.

 

  
Love was —or rather, _is_ — the way Gon declared, a long time ago, under the same stars swallowing up the same night sky—

 

_let’s stick together and travel the world_

 

and love was the lack of hesitation as Killua agreed.

 

  
Killua shifts his gaze to Gon, and finds contentment in crossed ankles and restless tan limbs. He sees sunlight trapped in the smattering of freckles across a pointed nose. He hears, but doesn’t really listen, as Gon points out various constellations emphasized due to Whale Island’s lack of light pollution.

 

  
Killua decides that it’d be a whole lot nicer if Gon would just _shut up._

 

He pulls one of his hands free, grabs Gon’s chin, and quiets him with a soft press of his mouth.

 

“ _Better_ ,” Killua breathes as he pulls away. Gon looks a little lost and a whole lot dazed — he reaches for Killua again, only to be cut off by a scuffling movement.

 

  
Alluka squeals and stomps over to the inviting warmth of the Freecss’ house, wanting to avoid further “sudden, unwarranted displays of affection in front of unsuspecting sisters”.

 

  
Killua hits Gon on the shoulder good-naturedly, but almost immediately pulls him back close.

 

“ _You_ started it,” Gon’s complaint comes out half-hearted and not much of a complaint at all. He leans in towards Killua.

 

  
Love —Killua smiles— is the unfocused, almost sleepy look in Gon’s half-lidded, tawny eyes. Love is the trail that Killua’s hand leaves as it moves from Gon’s chin to the back of his neck. It is in the press of their foreheads and the clashing of teeth.

 

Love is the soft, inaudible sighs their souls emit as their hands find each other and their fingers tangle.

  
It echoes in the windless night, the willful proclamation Gon makes for the world to hear—

 

  
_It has to be Killua_

 

  
and perhaps this is love.

 

 

" _Idiot_." Killua grumbles.

 

  
(It means _I love you, too._ )


End file.
